We've Done Good
by jbn42
Summary: It's been more than twenty-five years since that day in the hallway, and they both know they've done good. Just a one-shot follow up to the Hallway Talk.
**Author's Note – As with others, I couldn't resist after the Hallway Talk** _ **.**_ **Just a one-shot.** **No profit to be had here, just having a bit of fun with a show I love.**

"Dad! You have to tell me! I want some advice on how to propose to Lexie!" The protest actually spikes in a high-pitched way that makes the tall man with the surfer tan and the silvery-blond shaggy hair lift an eyebrow at his son. The younger man just turned twenty-four, and he's a near carbon-copy of his father, right down to the surfer tan, lanky frame and height; the only difference is that his eyes are mismatched dark brown and hazel, the result of a birthmark just like his mother's.

"Donny, I told you to ask your mom. It's up to her which story she tells you. If you already asked and she wouldn't tell, then she just wants you to drag it out of her. You know that's how she is." Marty Deeks grins at his frustrated offspring, named Donald Andrew Deeks and born almost exactly forty weeks following his wedding to Kensi. They'd gotten over that "not a world you bring kids into" thing pretty quickly. He goes back to waxing his surfboard on the back deck of the house.

The younger man throws his hands in the air. "Really, Dad? _Really_?" He then spins on his heel and heads off in search of his mother.

Marty snorts. Don got a lot of his personality from Kensi, but that last part is all him. "Dad, you know that stuff drives Donny nuts." He turns in surprise, grinning again at the sight of his other child, twenty-one year-old Fern Blye Deeks. Opposite of her brother, she is a carbon copy of Kensi. Her hair is lighter, though, and her eyes are the same blue as his, and her personality is almost all him, right down to the surfer drawl. She's trailed by a large lab mix, Monty the Fourth. The girl pauses for effect. "I've asked you to wait 'til I'm around to wind him up. It's too fun to miss out on."

He puts the board aside, and Monty bounds up to him, trying to get in his lap. Marty grunts a little as the eighty pound lump settles across his legs. The dog sighs and closes his eyes, and Marty just shakes his head and scratches the dog's ears. "Hey, Princess. Sorry about that. I have to take the chances as they come. Law school is helping him get better at avoiding the traps."

Don just finished his second year at UCLA law, where he met his apparently soon-to-be fiancée. Fern is going into her senior year at Pepperdine, living at home as it's actually close to both the beach and campus. The day the girl was born, Kensi happily surrendered both of her nicknames, Fern and Princess. She's studying Sports Medicine, intending to eventually become a physical therapist. She blew out her knee surfing five years ago, and her own physical therapist back then inspired her.

She sits next to him on the deck. "I can't believe he's going to propose. Mom is going to flip out." She elbows him in the ribs. "But maybe he'll manage to not do it in a hallway at the office."

"You know I did it for real on the beach a week later!" He laughs out loud and wraps an arm around her shoulder. "I never should have told you that story. Why did I do that?"

"Because I hugged you and asked nicely. And because you're a sucker." She grins impishly at him. Yep. She's him. Apple doesn't fall far from the tree. She'd been a delightfully funny little girl, and she's grown into an equally delightful young woman, just as focused as Kensi and Don – an admittedly, him too – but also relaxed and easygoing.

He must look a little wistful, because Fern's brow furrows. "Dad?"

He blinks. "Sorry, Princess. Memories and all that."

She shakes her head and changes the subject. "Is everyone coming over for Memorial Day lunch?"

He nods and shoves Monty off of him. "Yes, Callen, Anna and Arkady, Sam and Michelle, and Eric, Nell and the kids will be over in a couple of hours."

"That's what I'll do!" Marty and Fern look up to see a flushed Don in the doorway to the deck. He must have struck out with Kensi again. "I'll ask Uncle G, Uncle Sam or Uncle Eric!"

Marty stands and heads over to the grill to get it fired up. "Good luck with that. Maybe Sam can help, but neither Eric nor Callen proposed."

"What?" That comes simultaneously from both of the kids.

He laughs and shakes his head. "Callen and Anna got hammered in Vegas and came back married. You both already knew that. And seriously, do you really think that your Aunt Nell waited for Eric to propose? She asked him. In ops. In front of all of us."

Don drops his face into his hand, but Fern grins. "Awesome!" she exclaims. "And bonus, something new to torture Uncle Eric with."

"Kids! Beer run. And we also need more salsa. My wallet is on the kitchen counter and there's a shopping list there too." Kensi comes out on the deck, a tray of steaks, burgers, veggie kabobs and foil-wrapped corn on the cob in her hands. His breath still catches at the sight of her. Just turned 60, she looks so much like she always did. There are soft laugh lines around her eyes, and there is a single, wide streak of silver in her mostly still-dark long hair. Otherwise, she has barely changed.

The kids head out to the kitchen and then to Fern's jeep. After they leave, Kensi comes up behind Marty, who has turned back to the grill. She puts the tray down on the counter of the outdoor kitchen, and she stands behind him and wraps her arms around his waist. She drops her head to his back and sighs. "Having kids old enough to buy alcohol is seriously the best thing ever."

He barks out a laugh. "Really, Kens?" She laughs and nods against his back, but then she goes quiet. He's confused for a moment, but then something occurs to him. "It's going to be weird."

"What?" Her voice is soft.

"A holiday without Granger sitting in his chair being crotchety and demanding scotch." He turns in her arms and looks down into her face. Her expression confirms his suspicions. Granger just passed away last month, dying quietly in his sleep at the ripe old age of eighty-six. He'd actually lived in the guest house right behind their house for the last four years, after a stroke at eighty-two.

She wipes away a tear. "I can't believe I miss Granger. Granger, Marty. I miss _Granger_."

He nods and smooths back her hair. "I know. I miss him too. So do the kids. They went by the benches this morning." He refers to the benches they dedicated in Granger's and Hetty's names, respectively, in a park not far from the old Mission in LA. The Mission still stands, though it has been truly abandoned for over a decade.

He hugs her to him, and she buries her face in his neck. "I miss our moms, and I really miss Hetty today too. It's hard to imagine that she's been gone fifteen years, Marty."

He just nods and hugs her tight. Hetty had only been seventy-nine when she passed, finally beaten by, of all things, cancer. That was when they all came to understand how much they were her family. She left everything divided amongst the OSP team, Granger included.

She'd had homes all over the world, including several in the LA area. The house they've occupied since, this beautiful contemporary nestled in the Pacific Palisades with a view of the Pacific and a short trip to the beach in Malibu, was one of them.

Callen and Anna live with their eighteen year old son Arkady in another in Brentwood, with Sam and Michelle not far from them. Eric and Nell took the other house in the Palisades, only ten minutes away. They have a daughter eight months younger than Fern and twin boys who are fifteen. Sam and Michelle's kids are long-grown, Kam having been a regular babysitter for Fern and Don.

Sam and Callen both still occasionally consult with them in the business they all started together after Hetty died. They took the money she divided up between all of them, resigned from NCIS (or, in Marty's case, LAPD), and started a private consulting business, specializing in security and K&R (kidnap and ransom) recoveries. All six of them, Callen, Sam, Kensi, Marty, Eric and Nell, were partners in the firm, along with Anna and Michelle.

Granger stayed with NCIS for two years after they all left OSP, but one day he showed up on the doorstep of their discreet, boringly professional offices in Century City. He groused a lot and signed on as a consultant. He worked with them regularly until his stroke, and he still came to the office with them for the years following, despite his significant loss of mobility on his left side.

Only the four of them still work full time, Marty and Kensi along with Eric and Nell, but they haven't gone into the field in several years. Kensi nearly died of a gunshot wound six years ago. That reality check was enough for them, and they both withdrew from the field. They now pick up operatives from the CIA, FBI, NSA and NCIS, and they let them do the field work. He is about ready to go "emeritus", as Callen and Sam like to call themselves. He just has to talk to Kensi into it.

"Penny for your thoughts?" she murmurs.

No time like the present. "Kensalina, how much longer are we going to do this?"

She leans away and peers up at him. "Do what? Stand here hugging? I guess until the others arrive or the kids get back."

He shakes his head. "I meant work, Kensi. How much longer are we going to work full time?"

She blinks. "You want to quit?"

"You don't?" he retorts, "I don't mean retire completely, but we can consult like Sam and Callen do, let Nell and Eric run the shop. It's not like we need the money." They aren't billionaires or anything, but considering Hetty's legacy along with the success of their very lucrative business, they'll never have to worry about their finances.

She steps away from him. "What would we do, Marty? I mean you can only surf so much." She stares out at the water.

He follows, coming up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and perching his chin on her shoulder. "Speak for yourself," he teases her.

"I'm serious, Deeks." He knows she's serious when she slips back into calling him by his last name.

"I know, Sugar Bear." He squeezes her a little. "I don't know. Maybe we travel? Write our life stories? Sit on the deck and soak up the sun? We can do whatever we want, Kensi. And if we semi-retire, we can whatever we want _whenever_ we want."

"You've been thinking about this." She leans back into him.

"A little. I'm ready to just enjoy us, Kens. I'm ready for some real quiet."

She's silent for a few minutes, and he doesn't push. He's known her long enough to know that she has to do things on her own clock, something his poor son has not yet sorted out.

Eventually, she sighs softly. "That actually sounds kind of nice, as long as whatever we do, we do together."

"That's how we roll, isn't it Kensalina? We're a team." He leans down a little and presses a kiss to her neck. She hums softly and turns her head, meeting his lips in a soft, languid kiss which becomes deeper and more intense in moments. They stand there like that for a long time, and the thought that this is way better than hugging pings through Marty's mind.

They completely lose track of time, until Monty barks and a voice says, "God, seriously you two? I still am not OK with watching you make out." They pull apart and look towards the house, and they see Sam standing there looking slightly nauseated.

Michelle pushes past them, admonishing Sam as she does. "Oh grow up, you big baby. You're over seventy, for God's sake."

Sam's nausea turns to apparent outrage. "And they're both over sixty, but still making out like teenagers."

"Tell me about it, Uncle Sam. I had to grow up in this house. Imagine that for a moment." Signaling their return and making a surprised Marty and Kensi look at their watches, Fern's voice is teasing as she hugs Sam, who in turn squeezes her so hard she nearly squeaks.

"Look who I found!" Don leads Eric, Nell, their kids, Callen, Anna and their son out onto the deck.

The day rolls on happily, the kids all playing touch football in the backyard and the eight old friends sitting comfortably on the deck. Marty and Kensi take all the dirty dishes inside, insisting that the others stay outside. They have trays of cookies and a cake to bring out, but before they do, Kensi leans up and kisses him. "I want to go to Italy first. And Spain. And maybe Portugal. It'll be nice to go places and not have people shooting at us."

He laughs. "Sounds good to me, Kensalina."

They carry the desserts out, both pausing at the back door and looking at the assembled people. Sam and Callen have joined the kids in the yard, and within the hour will both be griping about their knees hurting. Eric and Nell are bickering about something on their tablet computer, and Michelle and Anna are off to the side, watching Sam and Callen with amused looks on their faces.

Kensi looks up at him, and the happiness and contentment shining in her eyes warms him up from the inside. "We've done good, haven't we, Deeks?"

He leans down and presses a kiss to her temple. "We really have, Kensalina. I love you, you know?"

She smiles. "Yeah, I know. And I love you too, you know?"

"I know, Kens. I know."

With that, they carry the desserts to the table and fold themselves into the loveseat on the deck to watch their family and to think about what's next. Yes, Italy sounds nice. Though he's also going to stump for some places with good surfing. "Yes." Her voice gets his attention, and he looks up in confusion. She reaches out and ruffles his hair, a knowing smile on her face. "You can add Australia or Hawaii to the list. Or both."

He leans over and presses a kiss to her temple, and she snuggles into his side. He laughs. "You know me too well. It's a little eerie."

"Says the man who still keeps a stash of Twinkies for me in the nightstand."

"That's just a survival skill, Kens. You might gnaw off my leg or something in the middle of the night."

She pokes him in the side, eliciting a grunt. Then, she wraps her arms around his waist and gets closer to him. As the kids turn the touch football game to tackle, dragging a laughing Sam and Callen to the ground, he smiles and nods. Yes. They've done good.


End file.
